


Dean Winchester and Football

by smarshtastic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never got a chance to play sports; they moved around too much to see a full season through. But one summer, Dean finally gets the chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester and Football

Dean had never played sports. They moved around too much to see a whole season through, and though Bobby had occasionally thrown a baseball around with him, Dean had little understanding of how sports actually worked. The summer before his sophomore year of high school, John settled Sam and Dean in a motel not too far from the school’s practice fields. 

“We’re staying here for a little while,” John announced one night as he filled salt rounds at the rickety kitchen table in their motel room. Dean looked up from the tiny stove where he was reheating a can of chili. “I’m going to enroll you boys in that school down the road.”

“Really?” Sammy asked, hopeful. John tapped a prepared round on the table. 

“Sure. This hunt is going to take a while.”

Sam practically wiggled in his seat at the prospect of settling in for more than a couple weeks. He had already been sorely disappointed when John announced that they wouldn’t be staying in Sioux Falls with Bobby for the summer – their usual summer plans – so this was much needed good news. Dean turned back to his soup, less hopeful than his younger brother. His dad always said things like this, that they’d be staying in one place for a bit, and then suddenly they were uprooted yet again – Dean knew the pattern. Still, if they could stay in one place for even a little while longer than usual, it would be good for Sammy. Good for both of them. 

Dean set out to get a feel for the surrounding areas, making note of where the convenience stores were, gas station, hardware, nearby residential areas. Places where they could get the things they needed, especially if they were in a pinch. He made sure to show Sammy where the local library was, and Sammy ended up spending most of his time there. His little brother was turning into a surly little middle schooler, and it was best Dean just left him alone. He noticed the high school’s practice field just down the street from their motel. There were a bunch of kids his age running around. It took him a while to realize that they were following orders of some sort, that they weren’t just haphazardly running around. It was only when they started tossing a football back and forth that Dean realized it must have been the high school’s team, practicing before the season started in the fall. It was oddly fascinating, and most days Dean ended up watching the football players run their drills in the hot afternoon sun while he sat in the shade of a tree, trying to make sense of their practices. It was so foreign and interesting to him, and it had the added bonus of keeping himself out of his father’s way. 

One hot afternoon a few days after Dean started watching the practices, the coach approached Dean’s shade tree. Dean tensed as the man approached him, fingers twitching for the knife in his pocket. 

“Are you just going to watch?” the coach asked bluntly. Dean blinked, his hand stilling at his side.

“I – yeah. I guess.”

The coach folded his arms over his chest and frowned at Dean. “This isn’t really a spectator sport, kid. Either shit or get off the pot.”

“I’m pretty sure football’s a spectator sport –”

“Smart mouth. You wouldn’t last a minute out there with my boys.”

Dean made a face. “I’m stronger than I look,” he said. It was the truth – he might look skinny (scrawny, even – when was puberty even going to hit?) but he was fast, and he was strong. John had made sure of that, relentlessly. 

“Yeah? Why don’t you come out and prove it then,” the coach said. “We start at 9am sharp.”

Dean blinked, not really comprehending what the coach was saying. “I don’t have the gear,” he said lamely. The coach shrugged. 

“You’re not on the team yet. We still have to see what you’ve got, kid.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Dean considered not showing up the next day. He was embarrassed that he was caught watching – how creepy was that? The other kids probably thought he was some sort of weirdo freak. Dean didn’t know the first thing about football. Everything the boys did at practice just seemed like running back and forth, with little rhyme or reason. Dean had barely seen them _touch_ a football. And Dean didn’t have anything that even resembled gym clothes.

But Dean found himself on the field the next morning, sporting a too-big pair of his dad’s old Marine sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt. He wore his heavy work boots – the only shoes he had – and felt incredibly out of place. The other boys eyed him curiously as they trickled in, but the coach – Coach Scott, Dean soon learned – treated Dean no differently from the other kids. 

It was weird. It was hard. Work boots were not meant to be run in. Coach Scott barked orders at the boys, and if Dean was anything, he was a good little soldier who could follow an order. The other boys accepted Dean into their fold because Coach Scott did, no questions asked. That wasn’t strictly true; during their lunch break, they badgered Dean with questions while he gulped down some water (he didn’t bring a lunch). They asked where he was from, if he had ever played sports before, who his favorite player was, if he had any cute sisters. It felt… Normal. And easy. Dean felt a sense of camaraderie with boys his age he hadn’t felt before. He was holding back the supernatural weirdness, but that was no different than before. 

At the end of the day, Dean was physically exhausted, but in a way that was drastically different from the way training sessions with his father felt. His whole body ached, and he shuddered to think at what blisters he might find on his feet when he pulled his boots off later. He looked forward to washing the sweat and dirt off his skin. As the other boys were picked up by their moms in minivans, Coach Scott pulled Dean aside before he could leave. 

“So, Winchester, is this something you’re interested in keeping up?” Coach Scott asked, fixing Dean with a piercing look. Dean blinked and nodded, standing up a little straighter in that way he usually did for his father. 

“Yeah – yeah, definitely.”

The coach looked at him for a long time, but Dean didn’t squirm. He knew better. “See you tomorrow morning, Winchester.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Dean didn’t really tell his father or Sammy where he spent his summer days. John never asked, and Sammy was too interested in reading books from the library to pay attention to what his older brother was doing. He mentioned casually to Bobby that he was doing some sports, and an old pair of cleats showed up at the motel desk for him a few days later. Dean almost sent them back to Bobby (he didn’t want to be a charity case), but when he realized how much lighter on his feet he was in cleats over his work boots, he couldn’t bear to part with them. He called Bobby again to say thanks, but Bobby dismissed him with a gruff “idjit” and told him to keep an eye on his brother.

Dean never missed a practice. His body ached and hurt in new ways, his skin burned under the hot sun and his feet blistered in his old cleats. He was pretty sure he dislocated a finger during practice, but Dean had had worse – he just kept going. Dean hadn’t ever had something that so fully kept his attention for so long. He was never bored. He slept well. It was absolutely one of the best summers he had ever had. 

The summer was winding down; school was starting in just a few short weeks. Tryouts were approaching. Coach Scott ramped up the practices, adding scrimmage games to their lineup. The boys rotated through the positions, alternated offense and defense, and took turns acting as quarterback. 

Dean liked playing wide receiver best. Quarterback was too much responsibility – Dean was better at taking orders than giving them. He wasn’t big enough to be a tight end, but he was fast. He moved well, light on his feet, and he could catch. He was looking forward to tryouts, though he was nervous too. The other boys had grown up playing sports, and though they were welcoming of Dean, he was still an outsider. If he made the team – big if, if you asked him – there was the cost of uniforms and equipment to consider. Bobby mentioned helping him out, but Dean didn’t want that. He’d already have to answer to his dad, and that would be bad enough. Bobby and John had had a falling out over this hunt and weren’t speaking again. Dean shuddered to think what John would do if he found out Dean was talking to Bobby. 

So Dean erred on the side of pessimism as tryouts approached. He kept his head down and trained hard, if only to keep his mind too exhausted to think too hard about what the future might bring. Sammy was getting excited about school starting again. Dean had to leave practice early one day to go with him to buy school supplies out of their minimal savings. It would wipe out any possibility of Dean being able to buy himself football equipment, but Sammy needed a new backpack before his old one fell apart. The look on Sammy’s face when they paid for the new backpack in full, without stolen credit cards – well, it was worth missing an afternoon of sprints. Dean resigned himself to not making the team. It would probably be for the better. 

School started, and while Sammy was thrilled to be back in class, Dean didn’t care. He did the minimal amount of work to get by, and waited for the final bell to ring so he could get back out on the field for practice. Tryouts were held at the end of the second week of classes. As pessimistic as he was in the long term, Dean was determined to do well. He didn’t spend most of the summer running drills to screw it all up at the last moment. 

He was not prepared for actually making the team. Junior varsity, starting wide receiver. Coach Scott looked at Dean with a gleam in his eye – what was it? Pride? – when Dean read his name on the list. 

“You’re serious?” Dean said, the disbelief clear on his face and in his voice. Coach Scott nodded, arms over his chest and his face impassive, as usual. 

“Sure, kid. You worked hard.”

Dean looked back at the list like it might have changed in the few moments he had looked away. “Coach…”

“Look, we have a fund for kids who… We’ll get you what you need.”

Dean looked back at Coach Scott sharply, his face going hot with embarrassment. “I’m not a charity case.”

Coach Scott shrugged. “You worked hard, Winchester. You earned it.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

School fell into a normal rhythm. Dean had enough time after school to walk Sammy back to the motel from the middle school before practice started. Sammy stayed home and did his homework like a good kid, and never asked where Dean went. He probably figured Dean was getting into some sort of trouble, the way he would sometimes limp back from practice bruised and sore. Dean didn’t care, though – he was part of a team, he was appreciated, and he was _good_. He kept all his equipment at school (it was old, hand-me-down stuff, the only kind he would accept from Coach Scott) and didn’t breathe a word of any of it to anyone but Bobby. Even then, Dean downplayed the whole thing – like he _wasn’t_ a starting wide receiver. It was only _junior_ varsity. Dean could hear the pride in Bobby’s voice, though, when he talked about it. He pretended he couldn’t hear it, but wondered if his dad would sound the same if he ever told him.

Fortunately, John wasn’t around much at all during those first few weeks of the new semester. He was hot on the tail of whatever it was he was hunting – vampires, maybe, or was it werewolves? – and hadn’t been back to the motel. He called to check in on Dean and Sam infrequently, but enough to berate Dean for leaving Sam alone too much in the afternoons. 

Dean could’ve cared less about the yelling when he got to try on his uniform for the first time. Crisp and new and white – Dean had to keep from staring at himself. He looked like an entirely different person. He looked like he belonged with the other boys on the team, like he grew up in these Midwestern suburbs with a mom and a minivan, playing sports and eating sandwiches with the crusts cut off. He had to turn away from the mirror before any of those emotions bubbled up to the surface, before anyone could see. Dean peeled off his uniform and hung it up in his locker reluctantly, too excited for game day, and to get grass stains all over that fresh white fabric. 

Their homecoming game happened to be their first game, and was scheduled for the beginning of October. Traditionally, the freshman team played the day before, and the junior varsity team played earlier in the afternoon on the same day. Dean was nervous and excited – his first game, ever. He had a growing feeling of wanting to share it with his family, wouldn’t it be a cool surprise? Bobby had something to do with that. He had been so supportive of Dean all summer, in his own Bobby way – never explicitly saying anything, but always remembering to ask questions. Bobby’s positive response was encouraging. Why would John be mad? Dean Winchester, actually doing something good, for once. He broached the subject with Sammy first, as a trial run. 

“Hey, you wanna come to the homecoming game with me, Sammy?” Dean asked casually one night while he cleaned up after dinner. Sammy barely looked up from his homework. 

“Why would I want to do that?” he asked, turning the page in his textbook. Dean glanced over his shoulder at his baby brother. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You can get into the whole high school scene early. Be the cool kid in your class.”

Sam looked up finally, clearly unimpressed. Dean had to keep his own face straight even as his heart sank. “Why do you want to go so bad? Is there like, a cheerleader or something?”

Dean made a face and turned back to the dishes. “Fine. Suit yourself, Sammy. I’ll hoard all the cheerleaders for myself.” His tone was dismissive but the way his shoulders hunched inward told a different story.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

It turns out that it all didn’t matter in the end. John came back from the hunt, banged up but semi-victorious. He pulled the boys out of school almost immediately – they had to track the remaining werewolves, who had fled south.

The game was supposed to be that Friday. 

Dean didn’t say anything to his father as they packed up and drove away. He didn’t say anything to his coach before they left. He thought about his crisp, clean uniform hanging in his locker at school, and the old cleats that Bobby had given him, left behind, abandoned. In the back seat of the Impala, Dean folded his arms across his chest and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, determined to keep his emotions in check. Sammy was sad too – another group of friends he’d have to leave behind, start over. 

When Dean spoke to Bobby a week or two later, Bobby asked about the game. Dean said that they were in Alabama, and had been for a few weeks. Bobby didn’t ask again. 

At the next school, Dean sought out the football coach, but he dismissed Dean almost immediately – the season had started, Dean was too small, he didn’t have the equipment, sorry son, try again next year. 

That was the end of that.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

When Dean met Charlie, and the whole Moondoor thing, Dean scoffed. It was weird, the weapons weren’t real, the costumes were ridiculous. But the more he got into it, the more he felt the tug of something familiar, something comforting. There was that camaraderie again, that safety and acceptance that Dean hadn’t felt in years. Sam only barely sort of tolerated it, for Dean’s sake, maybe, but Dean let himself be sucked into it. It was good, clean fun. And Dean felt right at home.

Especially in those tight pants.


End file.
